


Alone

by AstralArcher12



Category: Hello Puppets (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Mentioned violence, POV First Person, slight Anthony Pierson/You if you squint, spoilers for ending of game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:15:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23502973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstralArcher12/pseuds/AstralArcher12
Summary: Escaping from the clutching of Mortimer, Riley and the other Handeemen the first had been tough enough. You almost died in your escape. Scout certainly did.Anyone would say it would be crazy to go back there. Though, with everything that happened, maybe you are. Going back with no solid certainty that what you were hoping to do was stupid, even stupider was the thought that you could escape again. But somehow you did it.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 36





	Alone

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back with another Hello Puppets! fic! Couldn't resist making another one.
> 
> This story can be read as a sequel to my previous one or read as a standalone. Never the less, enjoy!

Escaping from the clutching of Mortimer, Riley and the other Handeemen the first had been tough enough. You almost died in your escape. Scout certainly did.

Anyone would say it would be crazy to go back there. Though, with everything that happened, maybe you are. Going back with no solid certainty that what you were hoping to do was stupid, even stupider was the thought that you could escape again. But somehow you did it.

The memories of the whole thing were fuzzy. With all of the pain medicine you still had in your system, you barely remember a thing that happened. Somehow you managed to find your way back into the studio, you found the section of the studio that the puppets lived in, you managed to avoid being killed by Riley, Rosco, and the sock puppets once more, and against all odds, you got your target and escaped with all limbs intact. So to speak.

And now, you’ve found yourself sitting exhausted against the wall of your bedroom with a practical corpse laying on your bed. You have no idea how you got it there without anyone freaking out and calling the police. You have been staring silently at the body for what has probably been hours, too tired to do anything during that time. Now, you have your strength. Slowly, you rise up from your seat on the floor and move over to the body. The hood over their head is still in place. Your fear of what you will find underneath had prevented you from taking it off. Though, maybe the fact that they were still breathing was a good sign. Their hands laid unmoving on each side of their body. One had the tattoo of a pyramid with an eye in the middle of it on the back of the hand while the other looked slightly shriveled with bloody stitching scars around their wrist that were almost identical to the slowly healing scars that circled your own wrist. 

You slowly sit down on the edge of the bed beside the body. Carefully taking the hand with the tattoo into your own, you trace the tattoo with your thumb before laying it back down again. You look back at their head, at the hood that hides the face of the owner of the body. You remove the rope that holds the hood in place and lay it on your nightstand beside you. Finally, before your fear can stop you once more, you pull off the hood and finally see for yourself the face of Anthony Pierson. 

You stare with held breath down at the man before letting out a shaky laugh. He looked like he was sleeping. He seemed almost fine, with the only real problems appearing to be the deep dark circles under his eyes and slightly sunken in cheeks. There was also the stitching that held his mouth shut. He looked a lot more well off than Owen was when you last saw him. The image of the puppet’s creator’s corpse sitting in that chair with puppets hands where his real hands should have been and his lower torso being completely gone still haunts your mind whenever you close your eyes. Anthony looked nothing like that. Maybe there was hope. But how?

You twist your torso to look at the nightstand and open it drawer to pull out the scissors from inside of it. With steady hands, you cut the thread that held his lips together, carefully to avoid nicking his lips. After finishing that and removing the remaining thread pieces from his lips, you slip off the edge of the bed and kneel on your knees as you observe the “sleeping” man. Carefully, you smooth the hair above his forehead, though the grease resulting from weeks of not cleaning it already holds it back, nullifying the need to do so. You take his hand back into yours once more, holding it up to your lips as waves of emotion wash over as your take in the state this poor man is in.

“Wake up,” you whisper to the hand. “Please, wake up.” You press the hand to your forehead as you silently pray to whatever power willing to listen to you and beg for him to wake up. You don’t want to be alone anymore.

You falling asleep like that, with his handheld to your face and you kneeling on the ground beside the bed. You wake up to the sound of a groan. The noise of it jerking you out of your sleep to sudden consciousness as your brain tells you that nothing should have made that noise normally. You open your eyes and lift your head to see Anthony’s face making an expression of discomfort. The sight of it choking you with hope as you shift up more to see if there is any more development. After a moment, he lets out another groan. You let out a relieved laugh of happiness at it. 

“Anthony?” you whisper. His head tilts toward your voice. He squeezes his eyes tight before blinking them open. What a sight you must be, a disheveled mess of a stranger smiling like a mad person at him with tears in their eyes. He blinks at you in confusion before slowly turning his head to look around the room. Slowly, awareness fills his eyes and he jerks up. You lean up as well, worry filling your heart at the fear in his eyes. He raises his shriveled hand to touch his lips but stops when he sees the state that it was in. Staring in horror at it for a moment he then turns his head to look at his other hand, your eyes follow along with his. His tattooed hand is still grasped between yours’. Despite your mind telling you to let go, you can’t bring yourself to do so. You look back up to see him staring at you now. He studies you for a moment before looking around.

“Where?” He begins to say in a raspy voice, before breaking out in coughs, no doubt from the days of disuse. You quickly let go of his hand and run out of the room and into your kitchen to get him a glass of water. You hurry back and give it to him, not letting go until you know he has a good grip on it. He nods his thanks and takes a good drink of it before placing it down on the nightstand. He licks his lips before looking back up at you. “Where am I?”

“Safe,” you simply say. He gives you a questioning look at your answer.

“Mortimer?” he asks. You shake your head.

“Not here, they’re all back at the studio as far as I know. Only puppet here is dead,” you say, nodding your head in the direction of where Scout’s lifeless body sits on a stand upon your desk, the replacement arm you’ve given her standing out due to its difference in color than the rest of her. You had thought that maybe if you gave her a new arm that she would come back, but of course it didn’t do a thing. Anthony regards her with suspension before looking back to you. 

“How?” You shrug in response.

“I don’t know, I hardly remember what happened. All I know is that we’re here and not there,” you explain. He nods and slowly raises the shriveled hand to look at it.

“How?” He asks again as he stares at the scars.

“I don’t know,” you repeat. He looks up to you once more with a questioning look in his eyes.

“Who are you?” 

“A friend,” you say without hesitation. He smiles slightly at your boldness. 

“Well then, friend, do you have anything I can eat. I have no idea when the last time I ate was,” he says, running his normal hand through his hair. He grimaces at the greasiness of it. “And maybe a shower, if that’s too much.” You let out a laugh at the request and nod. He smiles even more at you. You turn to go back to the kitchen to make something for you both to eat. You get to the doorway when his voice stops you. “Wait!” He calls. You turn to look back at him. He has his hand raised and his mouth opened as he tries to think of what to say. Finally, he says, “Thank you. I don’t know who you are, but thank you for saving me.” You stare at him for a moment before speaking.

“You’re welcome,” you whisper before leaving the room. You wander into the kitchen and begin making food, thoughts running through your head as you begin thinking of what you need to do next. You pause in your movements as the reality of the situation dawns on you. Tears begin to fall down your face as relief fills your heart. You stand there for a moment, allowing yourself to cry, before wiping away the tears and continuing your task. You have food to make and a man in your bedroom in need of the food and some other care. 

You have no idea what the future holds for you, but you know one thing.

You’re no longer alone.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this story! If so, why not leave a kudos or a comment, it always warms my heart to know that people appriecate my stories. As always, take care and have a wonderful day!


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